Crash : BurBay Falls Series, page 1
CRASH
M.T. MORGAN
Copyright © 2022 by M.T. Morgan
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law.
This book is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to actual persons, things, living or dead, locales or events is entirely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
CONTENTS
Untitled
Trigger Warning:
Playlist
Prologue
Easton
1. Easton
Jasmine
2. Jasmine
Easton
3. Jasmine
Easton
4. Jasmine
Easton
5. Jasmine
Easton
6. Jasmine
Easton
7. Jasmine
8. Easton
9. Jasmine
Easton
10. Jasmine
Easton
11. Jasmine
Easton
12. Jasmine
Easton
13. Jasmine
Easton
14. Jasmine
15. Easton
Jasmine
16. Easton
Jasmine
17. Jasmine
Easton
18. Jasmine
19. Easton
20. Two Months Later
Six Months Later
21. Jasmine
Easton
22. Jasmine
Easton
23. Jasmine
Easton
24. Jasmine
Easton
25. Jasmine
Easton
26. Jasmine
Easton
27. Easton
28. Jasmine
Easton
29. Jasmine
30. Easton
31. Jasmine
Easton
32. Jasmine
33. Easton
34. Jasmine
35. Easton
36. Ezra
37. Jasmine
Epilouge
Untitled
Shatter
Acknowledgments
About the Author
Connect With M.T. Morgan
Books By M.T. Morgan
Cover Designer: To All the Books I Love, Melissa Cunningham
Editor: Rumi Khan
To the broken souls who wanted to give up, but instead chose to self-mutilate and self-destruct.
To the souls with scars and secret wounds you don’t let anyone explore.
To the souls who woke up and said, “I can’t do this no more,” but flipped their demons the bird and chose to go to battle once more. This one’s for you, my survivors.
TRIGGER WARNING:
This contains subject matters some may find triggering,
including dub-con, sexual assault, self-harm, bullying, violence, and murder.
You are not meant to feel comfortable in every aspect of this story.
Due to that, this story is not for everyone. Please take that into consideration before beginning this story.
PLAYLIST
Craving You- Thomas Rhett ft. Maren Morris
Everything I Wanted- Billie Eilish
Numb Little Bug- Em Beihold
Red Flag- Natalie Jane
Rise Up- Andra Day
Monsters- All Time Low ft. Blackbear
Let it Go- James Bay
Unsteady- X Ambassadors
Fix You- Coldplay
All Time Low- Jon Bellion
Listen here:
“Your scars are your will to keep fighting, a symbol of your battle cries when you feel like dying. They are not ugly; for you see, you choose to keep living, and that is beautiful to me.”
-M.T. Morgan
PROLOGUE
JASMINE
16 Years Old
I’ve always loved school. It gives me a sense of peace. A tiny spark of happiness. I don’t want to say I don’t want to be here, on this earth that is, but sometimes I wonder… What if I push the knife a little deeper? Drag the cut a little longer? What if I could fade away into nothing, or maybe, I would drift into everything? The wind that sways the trees. The whisper of the rain that lightly caresses the velvet petals of a rose. The breeze of the ocean waves as they crash to shore.
I shake the thoughts from my mind as I’m leaving the library, my books to my chest. A cry so violent it rivals my own thoughts has my steps hurrying down the hallway to the gym. I peek through the door’s window that is smeared with fingerprints. Easton and the rest of the sophomore football team have Gerry—a redhead boy, who is my friend, kind of; we speak casually but never hang out—strung up to the basketball goals, fear and tears leaking from his eyes.
Mark, Easton’s best friend, knocks off Gerry's glasses. Thinking quickly and irrationally, I grab my phone and hit Record. They wouldn’t get away with it this time. Easton may be a part of the heirs, but I am tired of him thinking he is a god amongst men. Gerry’s glasses hit the floor and Easton smashes them, shattering them to pieces.
My heart sinks. Why are kids so cruel? This isn't right. I should stop them, but what could I do?
They pull out paint guns, shooting poor Gerry with them. His cries of pain will haunt my nightmares. I am ashamed of my lack of actions. Of always being weak. Once every inch of Gerry’s body is covered in welts of color, they leave. I shut my phone off, grabbing a ladder out of the supply closet. I can barely carry it, but I am determined. Gerry hangs his head as sobs shake his tiny body. I help him down. Picking up his smashed glasses, I grimace, tucking them into his blazer pocket. I would get my dad to buy him a new pair. I help him outside, having my driver give him a ride home.
I get out of my car, running to my aunt Eliza’s house. She isn’t really my aunt, but you couldn’t tell me any different. I pound on the door, and she swings it open, confusion on her face.
“Everything okay, honey?” she asks as tears run down my face.
“Eliza, I need to show you something.”
EASTON
I walk into my house feeling like shit. I didn’t have anything against Gerry, I didn’t want to hurt him, but Mark peer pressured me, and I didn’t want to look like a pussy. My mom is sitting on the couch with a deadly look on her face. I know all about my mom’s crazy past and even though we have a great relationship, she scares the fuck out of me.
“Hey, Mom.” I give her my best innocent smile.
She rises from the couch, gripping me by my ear, and drags me to the basement, like I am a toddler and not a foot taller than her. I know when to keep my mouth shut, and that time is now. She throws my ass to the mat and stands over me. I look over to see my dad and Ezra munching on popcorn in the corner.
“Please tell me my son, my sweet son, did not bully a smaller kid today.”
I swallow but don’t answer. How does she know? She gets in my face, her cold blue eyes shifting to gray. “Jasmine brought over a video today. Want to know what was on it, Easton Jackson McKnight?”
I squeeze my eyes shut, cursing fucking Jasmine. Why did she always have to be a snitch? “It’s like I don’t even know who you are!” she roars, and I flinch away from her.
She backs away, kicking off her shoes. “Pick a weapon,” she says slowly.
Fuck. I am about to be punished, McSutton style. “Mom, listen,” I begin.
“I said. Pick. A. Weapon.”
Christ. My mom’s about to hand me my ass on a silver platter. Things in my family are a little different. Probably considered child abuse to most, but when you own the town, everyone turns a blind eye, or loses them.
Rising, I go to the wall, drawing a combat stick. The stick is light and smooth in my palm. My mom does the same. We stand across from one another as we go into our stances.
I didn’t like Jasmine. Now, I hate her.
Mom runs at me, and it is the last thing I see before a stick comes down on my side, smacking my rib cage. I fall to the mat.
Fuck my life.
CHAPTER 1
EASTON
17 YEARS OLD
Junior Year, Christmas Break
Sometimes it feels like I can’t breathe. The rage coils around my lungs, in a vise grip. Especially when I am in the same room as her. I knew playing truth or dare was a bad idea. I just didn’t think my sister would be my downfall. “Kiss Jasmine,” Ezra says, mischief glittering in her eyes.
My sister could be a real cunt sometimes. Don’t call you sister a cunt, blah, blah. You haven’t met Ezra. She has the devil himself by the balls. Evil little shit.
I see Jasmine try to get up and run, but I’m up faster, snatching her up and smashing my lips to hers in a punishing kiss. The last thing I expect is a spark. An all-consuming need building in my gut. She gasps into my mouth, sinking into my hard chest. Her small hands curling into my shirt. She is so tiny, I have to bend down to reach her lips. I bite her bottom lip, my teeth sinking deep into the pillowy cushion, drawing blood, and sucking it clean. That copper twang exploding on my taste buds.
I know you’re thinking poor, poor Jasmine. Don’t. She is giving it back just as hard as I am. Our teeth are clashing, our tongues battling for dominance. My cock stirs, trying to break free. She feels it and we both pull away. I glower into her light green pools as she pushes off me, running away. I fall back into the sofa, watching her run as I take a long pull of my beer.
I hate Jasmine Renae Andrews. I can’t wait to make her life so miserable she contemplates suicide just to get away from me. I wince at the thought. I wasn’t always a mean guy. I was playful and fun, but she brought out this nasty side of me I try to keep hidden. One that is thirsty for her pain.
I see Monroe look at me and I cock an eyebrow at her. If Monroe wasn’t Nixon’s, and vice versa, I would have snatched her up in a heartbeat. There is no blood loss over it. I know I can’t have her. For fuck’s sake, she is my person, but maybe in a different life I could have.
I make my way up to my room, noticing Jasmine’s lights are off. For some reason, I can’t escape her. I remember requesting my room as far away from hers, but instead, I got the one directly across. I shut my door, shredding off my shirt, and lie on my bed as a stream of messages come in. I ignore my phone. Like I wish I can ignore the way my body came alive when I kissed Jasmine. Her soft, innocent lips on my soiled-with-sin mouth. The electric current that shook my soul. How tiny and soft she was against my body. Or even the way she smells of vanilla. Fucking fitting, if you ask me. Her smell, not all of that other strange shit.
I get lost in daydreams of all the ways I can make life leave her body with my dick stuffed tight inside her virgin pussy. My hands around her throat as her face turns blue. Her choking on my cock. Speaking of cocks, mine is hard as fucking steel. I fist it out, jerking it to my daydreams. With my cum on my hands, I realize with a sour taste in my mouth that I just jerked off to Jasmine fucking Andrews.
JASMINE
I should have stayed at my own cabin. In fact, I begged my parents to not make me come over here, but they insisted I needed a life outside of my art and schoolwork. I tried to fight away the nausea I felt when Easton kissed me, but I was three seconds from throwing up.
He is a bully.
I hate bullies as much as I hate the family I was born into.
See, Easton wears a mask. Everyone knows him as the loving, playful guy, but I know better. He is a sadistic prick.
My door bursts open with a loud smack against the wall. Easton walks in, slamming it shut with his foot. He has on black sweatpants that hang low on his hips, showcasing his tight abs and that perfect V. He is cut but not big, lean. His unruly light brown hair is a mess, hazel eyes cold and calculated as he holds my stare.
God, he is gorgeous.
“Get out,” I whisper.
The laugh that spills through his lips is cruel and haunting. It sends chills down my spine. I shrink back into my bed when he climbs on, powerful thighs straddling me, holding me in place. He tilts his head to the side, as if to study me better, the weight of his body pinning me to my bed.
“Get out of my fucking head, Snitch.”
I don’t reply. I’d like to tell him it’s not my problem. I'd never willingly put myself there, but I don’t.
He snarls in my face, looking at my lips. “You like my lips on you?” he asks, lowering his head, and he starts kissing down my neck, slowly.
I want to say no. I want to say the thought of him makes me want to puke. But it’s the fact that I like it that makes me sick.
I shove at his chest, but he doesn’t move. I should be taking training more seriously. At least then, I could fight off my attacker.
He laughs by my ear at my attempt to knock him off of me. “Let’s see what you're hiding under these huge sweaters you’re always wearing. Let’s see if you’re as ugly as your personality.” His voice is low, chilling, and downright evil.
He takes his pocketknife out, the cold metal grazing my skin as it rips up my sweater. Normally, I would question why anyone always has a pocketknife on them, but in this life it is necessary. Although the threats are not as bad as they were when we were just children, one can never be too prepared. And me? I’m never prepared.
The sound of the wool separating, the fabric tearing, has my body stiffening. I feel the chill nip at my exposed skin, and I try to cross my arms over myself. He laughs as he pins them to the sides of my head. My stinging eyes meet his lustful ones. I know I saw it, the heat spilling from them, but they switch to hatred.
“Please,” I croak. “Stop it.”
His eyes flick down to my breast, he licks his lips before slowly dragging his hazel gaze to mine. Brown with swirls of green and tiny hints of yellow. “No. I’m not going to stop. You know why?” He lowers his head and flicks my nipple with his tongue. Heat burns my cheeks as we watch each other. Pleasure sparking low in my stomach. “Because you like it.” His warm breath skates over my erect nipples.
He’s right. I do, but that doesn’t make this right.
I thrash my body, trying to buck him off. He grabs my throat, squeezing it. I wrap my hands around his in a desperate attempt to free my throat so I can breathe. His grip is tight, and his nails sink into my tender flesh. Leaving crescent moons, I’m sure. His face is close to mine. So close, I can see his sins flick across his eyes like a motion picture.
“You should have stayed off my radar, Snitch,” he whispers.
I sniffle, unable to move my eyes away from his. Like a stupid moth to a flame. A moth that will no doubt crash into the flame and crumble into ash. “Because I’ll enjoy ruining your life.” I swallow as he climbs off me. Walking to my door and slamming it in his wake.
I know one of the reasons why he hates me, and I won’t apologize for ratting him out about Gerry. It was the right thing to do. If I am on his radar now, so be it. I crawl out of my bed and make my way to Monroe’s room, but she isn’t there. Figures. So instead, I walked to Satan's room.
“Jasmine.” Ezra smiles. If any of us were messed up, it was her. Her soul is tainted. Stained in sin and blood.
“I need some help,” I say quietly, sitting on her bed.
She crosses her arms over her chest, looking me up and down. “And how am I supposed to help you with that, Jazzy?”
Ezra is beautiful. With cold eyes and ivory skin. Long, wavy blonde hair and freckles that dance across her nose. Pouty pink lips. She is like a mirror, pretty to look at but would cut you if you broke it.
“I need to be tougher.”
Ezra laughs. “I can’t make you tougher.”
She pushes me out of her room as I hang my head. Don’t cry. Do not cry. How did I come from the parents that I did and still not become a badass?
I go back to my room and think about when I can escape back to Africa.
Where I can escape back to him.
CHAPTER 2
JASMINE
18 YEARS OLD
Senior Year
